


First Thanksgiving

by Cena316AA



Category: Marvel, Marvel (Comics), The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Fluff, Gen, Stony - Freeform, Thanksgiving, also lots of Clint mentions, there's also some
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-22
Updated: 2016-11-22
Packaged: 2018-09-01 10:22:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,869
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8620795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cena316AA/pseuds/Cena316AA
Summary: After finding out Deadpool has never celebrated a Thanksgiving (that he can remember), Peter decides to hold a feast at the Avengers Tower, but, on the night of, Wade is the only one missing from the table. He sets off to find him, and their relationship takes a turn.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Happy Thanksgiving! This is my first Spideypool fic. Idk why it took me so long to write one. Maybe I've been too obsessed with Stony. Anywho, enjoy!

_Drip. Drip. Drip._

The dark red liquid fell from his sharp claws and splattered onto the cold cement below his feet. Some landed on his blue boots. His yellow-blue suit was no longer intact, and his heaving chest was exposed by a large tear. He glared at his opponent clad in red lying on the ground. He was still alive, that much he knew. This was his chance. His chance to finish him off and obtain victory. 

Wolverine walked up to the spider-themed hero, his dirty, silver claws glinting in the light. With this last hit, it’d be over. He raised his arms and brought them both down across Spider-Man’s neck separating his head from his body. 

 

“NOOOOOOOOOOO!!!!!!!”

Peter jumped from his spot on the black, leather couch as he saw the health bar on his side of the screen drain completely. The black controller fell on the tannish rug with a muffled _thud_. He turned to Wade, his feet resting on the coffee table, and grabbed him by the collar of his red suit. Even through that red mask Peter could see his smug expression, his smirk, and he was sure Wade could see Peter’s annoyance behind his own web-decorated mask. 

With a grunt, he let go of Wade practically tossing him back unto the couch. “You cheated.” Peter pointed an accusing finger at Wade who now bore an expression of heartbrokeness _(that’s not even a word)_

“How--”

Peter interrupted. “Classic Wolverine is too OP. I’m--I mean, Spider-Man is useless when there aren’t any tall buildings around. The odds were against me--I mean, Spider-Man--no, wait, me? Uhh--”

“You’re so adorable when you’re babbling incoherently. Also,” Wade took a sip of his soda, “you’re really bad at video games.”

With a frustrated groan, Peter sat back down, arms crossed, lips pouting.

“I wasn’t aware Spider-Man was such a sore loser. You don’t even deserve to wear that cost--”

Wade had been reaching toward Spider-Man’s mask, but Peter’s gloveless hand (he believed gloves obstructed his button mashing abilities) had gripped his wrist. 

“Oh, Spidey. This is too sudden,” Wade squealed. 

Peter’s grip tightened.

“Ouch! Ouch! Ouch! Ouch!”

The whirring sound of the elevator ascending interrupted their _(sexual tension)_ **CONVERSATION**. As the doors opened, Peter pushed Wade’s arm away from him letting it fall with a _slap_ on his lap. Wade continued to give it a few shakes to make sure it wasn’t broken _(not that it matters to a guy as awesome as me)_. 

“Why is he here again?”

Tony’s glare always made him feel uncomfortable, but Wade could always count on the Captain to come to his rescue. 

“He’s an Avenger, now. Show him a little hospitality,” Steve said _(told ya)_. 

Tony countered with a “my building. My rules. I don’t have to do anything I don’t want to” and walked over to the kitchen/bar side of the Avengers lounge.

“You sound like a three-year-old,” Steve muttered.

“I know you are but what am I?” came a call from the kitchen/bar. 

Steve didn’t bother replying to Tony’s inner-child, instead he turned his attention to the image on the screen. The large PLAYER TWO covered nearly half of the screen, but the goriness of the image before him was not lost. One man, Wolverine, was standing covered in blood and seemed as if he had just come out of a tough battle. The other, Spider-Man, was on the ground, blood spurting from his headless neck. It took a while for Steve to spot the head. It was still impaled into Wolverine’s claws like some kind of shish kebab. 

The scowl on Steve’s face did not go unnoticed by Peter. Slowly, he reached for the television remote on the coffee table and switched off the tv. 

The black screen seemed to confuse Wade. “I thought we were gonna go another r--OW!” Peter’s elbow dug into Wade’s ribs causing him to cut his sentence short.

Making his way to Tony and his minibar, Steve asked “When did video games become so violent?” 

“About the same time you made it to the 21st century. Ooh, maybe there’s a correlation,” Tony joked as he took a swig of his whiskey-filled glass.

“The only correlation around here is your drinking and the amount of destruction that ensues.” 

The cold-stare he received from Tony made him regret his choice of words. He swore that he’d heard a low growl emanate from Tony’s throat.

“Oh no. Mommy and Daddy are going to fight. Let’s go, Spidey,” Wade said as he grabbed his Spider-Mate by his surprisingly muscular arm.

Leading the way to the elevator, Wade smashed the button many times until their transportation finally arrived. The atmosphere had become thick and heavy, and if it couldn’t be solved by stabbing, Wade did not want to deal with it. He had to get out. 

When the metallic doors finally slid open, Wade stepped through with his Spidey in tow and let out a sigh of relief. “That was close,” he said once the doors closed.

“You’re sweating,” the spider-clad hero said with disgust. 

“Eh?” Wade examined himself. He did feel pretty wet, but he thought it was because of his partner’s sexu--

“You’re doing it again!” 

“Doing what?”

“You’re narrating outloud.”

“Oh. When did--”

“Ever since you grabbed me by my ‘surprisingly muscular arm.’”

Wade let out a nervous laugh. “My bad. Wait. I thought _you_ were narrating this.”

Spider-Man’s eyes widened. “I don’t--I would never--I don’t narrate my life.” Sensing that Wade was ignoring him, he added, “Besides, if I did narrate, why would I narrate in third-person?”

Wade shrugged. “Makes things more dramatic.” He paused for a second. “We should just let the author narrate for now. At least until a reader arrives,” Wade thought outloud. 

Peter let out a sigh and pinched the bridge of his nose. He could feel a headache commencing. “Author? Reader?”

“Yeah, you know. Whoever’s writing or reading the story. Err, fanfic?”

“Story?” Peter was as confused as Clint in a Stony fanfiction.

“That was a horrible metaphor,” Wade accused. 

(It’s actually a simile, but I agree. Sorry.)

“It’s fine. Just do better next time.”

“Okay,” Peter said. “This is officially the weirdest elevator conversation I’ve ever had, and I’ve been stuck in one with the Hulk. Like, the actual big, green monster Hulk.” Peter practically praised the ding that punctuated his statement and was the first one out of the elevator leaving Deadpool to wonder who was going to narrate this story. 

“Well, if it’s not me or Spidey . . . how about Morgan Freeman?” he offered as he caught up with his superpal. 

Peter turned to meet his gaze. “What? Why? No, you know what. I don’t even want to know. Let’s just forget this whole thing and get out.” He continued making his way out the building. 

“But the readers will be confused! Honestly, I just think this is lazy writing. What? You got a bit of writer’s block, so you just wrote random dialogue to get your gears running. Well, guess what! That’s actually pretty good strategizing!” 

“‘Pool. Who are you arguing with?!” Peter was almost out of the building, but a moment of hesitation led him to turn around and wait for the crazy bastard currently arguing with the person who holds his fate.

“What was that about ‘fate’?”

“‘Pool!” Peter was growing impatient, and this SpideyPool fanfic was dangerously close to becoming angst.

Wade quickly debated amongst himself, but the choice was obvious. He would relinquish the role of narrator and accept the Spideypool fluff planned or be subjected to an AU where he no longer had a healing factor and died a slow and horrible death.

“Sounds good to me,” he said as he ran toward the big, glass doors that led to the outside world. “Coming, sweetie! Wait--how old is Spider-Man in this fanfic? Is it like Marvel 616 Spidey or MCU Spidey or--”

Wade ran out the door nearly crashing into Peter’s back. 

“Hey, what’s with the sudden--” 

“Turkey.”

Wade wasn’t sure if he had heard Peter correctly, and he was still debating on what he heard when the sudden pressure on his shoulder caught him off guard. He winced in pain. Peter was looking intently into his masked eyes and grasping his shoulders with all his might. Wade was almost certain he had some busted ligaments and a fractured scapula. 

“TUR . . . KEY!” Peter said slowly. “Turkey!” He turned his back to Wade and pressed his bare hands against his masked cheeks. “I forgot the turkey. Ugh! Aunt M--I mean, uh, I’m going to be killed.”

“I don’t quite follow. Are you fighting mutant mashed potatoes?” 

“The turkey!” Peter repeated as if Wade was supposed to know what it meant. “I was supposed to buy the turkey! I-I have to go. Later, Wade.” With that, he aimed his wrist at the nearest building and swung off.

“Wait!” Wade called after him waving the pair of red cloth in his hands. “You forgot your gloves! I have them right,” the white, sticky substance shot out _(that’s what she said)_ and landed on the pair of gloves Wade was holding up, “. . . here.” 

“Thanks, Wade!”

His eyes lit up and his fists clenched together. “He thanked me. This is the greatest day of my life.” Skipping away from the Avengers Tower, Wade began to whistle a merry tune. Even in the nearly dark sky, the world appeared brighter to Wade than it ever had before. 

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“Hello?!” Wade called out for the fourth time. The Avenger’s Tower was empty, which had become a rare thing ever since Tony had gathered all these new recruits. It was weird to find the place completely empty, especially between the hours of 3:00 pm and 7:00 pm which is when all the kids were out of school and lounging about. Usually Bruce would be in here working on something or the younger kids would be in the gaming room or freshening up their powers or Clint would be . . . doing whatever Clint does. 

“Weird.” He was about to turn and leave when he heard the familiar whirring sound. Anticipation welling up inside him, Wade stayed by the elevator doors. His patience was well-rewarded as the other red-suited hero greeted him.

“Hey, ‘Pool.”

“How’s the turkey?”

It took Peter a moment to register what Wade was talking about, but this time, unlike their usual conversations, Peter actually understood what he meant. “Oh,yeah. I managed to find a store in time. They were just closing up, but I got the frozen turkey and got it home to my Aunt M--to my place.”

“Why were you so Hell-bent on getting a turkey?”

Peter wasn’t sure if he was kidding or not, but he answered the question. “Thanksgiving, Wade. It’s almost Thanksgiving. And Au--I like to prepare the turkey a day in advance.” The silence that ensued was unnatural. “Wade?”

“No, yeah. I just don’t really keep track of holidays anymore since, well . . . You wanna play some Marvel Combat? I think Birdbrain unlocked Captain Marvel, and I wanna give her a go, sexual innuendo not intended.”

Peter watched as Wade made his way to the two-seater. He didn’t move from where he stood. “Wade?” He thought about how to frame the question. “Do you--I mean, is there, umm, do you have a home?” Even though Wade complained about being lonely or sometimes smelled like he had just climbed out of a dumpster, Peter had never considered the possibility that Deadpool had no place to go back to. Perhaps the Avengers Tower was his only sanctuary.

“Don’t be silly. Of course I have a place. It’s a little apartment down by--”

“What about a family?”

Wade turned his attention to the console. He proceeded to tinker with the buttons on the mechanism. 

“Wade.”

His fingers stopped. “No. I don’t have anybody. Which is the way I prefer. I don’t have to worry about keeping my identity secret,” he addressed this to Peter, “or having my family kidnapped by some deranged, malformed lunatic in a red suit who occasionally hears voices depending on the form of media portraying him.”

Peter was terrible in uncomfortable situations. Usually he spoke too much, but this time he couldn’t find anything to say. Instead, he opted for taking a seat on the couch beside Wade and letting him ramble on about a marble universe or something, he wasn’t paying attention. What could he do? He was tempted to invite Wade over for Thanksgiving dinner, but then he’d have to reveal his identity (and, worse!, his family) to him. Plus, how would he explain Deadpool to Aunt May. He’d have to tell her he was Spider-Man. No. Peter couldn’t have Thanksgiving dinner with Wade, but . . . 

“Spider-Man could.”

“You’re mumbling,” Wade stated. “Did you just have some kind of internal monologue that lead you to the solution for a problem you recently encountered?” 

“Huh? No, I mean yes, I mean--Wade! We should have a Thanksgiving dinner.”

Heat coursed through every inch of his body. “Thanksgiving dinner? Just the two of us? Oh, Spidey, I--”

“Mr. Stark doesn’t have family either. Maybe we can get him to join. And Captain America’s pretty alone, too. And Black Widow. Captain Marvel. Maybe Thor. And Dr. Banner. We can have an Avengers Thanksgiving,” Peter said excitedly. 

“I never realized how depressing our lives are. Um, yeah, sounds good,” Wade offered. “But, what if they don’t make it?”

Peter was already pacing about making mental note of everything required for a Thanksgiving feast. He’d helped Aunt May gather materials for Thanksgiving dinner for the past few years, so he was pretty confident in his ingredient-gathering skills.“Why wouldn’t they?”

“Well, say they all, I don’t know, die?”

“Wade.”

“What?! It’s a possibility. Right, author?”

No.

“Why are you never on my side? Fine. We’ll do the Avengers thing.”

“Great! ‘Pool, Imma need you to alert the Avengers of the feast. I’ll go gather the stuff.” Peter made his way to the windowsill and propped the window open. “We gotta hurry. Thanksgiving is tomorrow. This is gonna be so awesome!”

“Wait! Spid--” Wade tried calling out to him, but he was already swinging a few buildings away from him. His voice wouldn’t be able to reach him. “Sigh. Oh, well. I guess we’re going through with this.” He made his way to the elevator on pursuit of the rest of the lonely Avengers. He stopped midstep. “Did I really just say ‘sigh’?”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“I had to tell Aunt May I was going to be late for dinner. I’m so glad Gwen and M.J. showed up to keep her company, though.” 

Vehicles zoomed under him as he swung from tall building to taller building. Even during a holiday the streets of New York remained busy. 

“Such a lively place,” he continued talking to himself. “And, there’s my stop.” He landed with a soft _thud_ on the damp lawn of the Avengers Tower barely missing a patch of wet mud. “That was a close one. Mr. Stark would have killed me if I walked in with muddy boots.” He wiped his shoes on the mat and made his way to the lounge. 

As soon as he stepped out of the elevator’s double doors, the smell hit him. Somehow, it brought back memories of eating dinner with his parents, which was weird because he could barely remember their faces. He imagined sitting in between his mother and father with a mouthful of warm, delicious food. The plate in front of him half clean. The glass filled with his favorite juice. A smile on his babyish face. 

“Whoa! Where’s the fire, Parker?”

With the back of his hand, Peter rubbed the drool dripping from the corner of his mouth. “Sorry, Mr. Stark.”

“Hey, I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“Compliment? Did you cook this, Mr. Stark?” he said as he motioned to the huge, dinner table before him filled with plates and plates of mouthwatering cuisine. 

“It’s just basic science. Not that difficult.”

“You burnt the mashed potatoes . . . twice!” came a voice from the kitchen. 

“Nobody asked you, Rogers! This guy, I swear. So, where’s your friend?”

“Uh, which one?”

“The psychologically disturbed one.”

“Oh, Deadpool. He’s not here, yet?”

“Not unless I’ve gone blind. You did give him the time, right, Parker?”

“Yeah, yeah. I told him. I’m gonna go look for him. Maybe he fell asleep or something.”

“Well, we're still waiting on the turkey. Hurry back or Hulk here will eat your portion.”

Peter was already out the window when Bruce spoke up, so he missed whatever witty retort Dr. Banner gave.

The cold breeze quickly penetrated through Peter’s skimpy costume making him wish he’d made a Winter version of the Spidey suit. “Dammit, Wade. What are you up to?! If I catch a cold, I am totally blaming it on you.”

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

A scuffle followed by the sound of glass breaking and a car alarm going out of control penetrated Wade’s room. To the unsuspecting person, he’d seem to be deep in sleep, but his eyes would flutter open every minute or so. The outside world was especially noisy today. 

“Wade! Wade, you in there?!”

He shifted in his bed, his back to the window. “Maybe if I ignore it it will go away, just like this rash I have on my--”

_CRASH!_

“Oh, so you are here,” Peter announced.

Wade rose to a sitting position, his blanket grasped in between his fists. “You broke my window! What kind of a superhero breaks into a person’s home?! That sounds like something _I_ would do!”

“And you’re okay, too. I guess you have no excuse for not being at the dinner.”

Wade laid back down facing the wall. “I’m not hungr--Wait,” he sat back up, “how did you figure out where I live? When I tried to tell you, you interrupted me b--”

“That’s not important.”

“Like that.”

“Wade, is there something wrong?”

“Well, for one, the continuity of this story is going to be affected by this plot hole--”

“Wade!”

Reaching for his mask, Wade adjusted his position on the edge of his bed. He covered his pink face with his mask, patting the empty space on the bed next to him. With a shake of his head, Peter refused the offer. “Okay. I just . . . am not . . . hungry. Good night!” He covered himself in his Captain America decorated blanket. 

Peter grabbed the blanket. “Let’s go, Wade.”

“I can’t.” He tightened his grip on the blanket.

Peter pulled harder. “Let’s go!”

“NO!” Wade could feel the blanket slipping from between his fingers. 

“Wade!” With one last tug, Peter ripped the blanket from Wade’s grasp.

“Fine! I’ll tell you. Just give me back my blankie. I had to fight a four-year-old for it.”

Peter tossed it to him. “Talk.”

“I’m not really used to having heart to heart talks, but people seem to eat them up (cannibal pun not intended; this isn't a Hannigram fic), so . . . It all started when I was born--”

“Wade.”

“I haven’t celebrated a holiday in . . . well, ever. I don’t remember my parents. My childhood is basically nonexistent. The loved ones in my post-brainwash life either left me before I had a chance to celebrate anything with them or died. Or turned out to be evil, but that’s another story. The only people in my life right now are you and the Avengers. I feel that the only reason you’re even here right now is because we haven’t gotten close. I just--I’m worried that if we become family, I’ll lose you--the Avengers, too.” 

The silence following would have been deafening, but for some reason, Peter felt it appropriate. He let it continue for a moment longer, but the turkey wouldn’t wait for them much longer.

“Wade . . .” 

Still seated at the edge of his bed, he looked up into Peter’s masked eyes. 

Peter uttered, “That’s stupid.”

“Wow. Ruin the moment much?”

“You’re not going to lose me, them, any of us.”

“How do you know?”

“Because we’re still here.”

Wade looked up at him, confusion on his face, er, mask.

“How long have we’ve known each other, ‘Pool? I think I’ve spent more time with you than I ever did with my parents. We’re practically--”

“Husbands?”

“--brothers already. We’ve been family for a while now, and we’re still here. And we’re going to celebrate our first Thanksgiving together.”

“First? As in we'll have more? Our? As in you and m--”

“As in us and the Avengers! And, yes! We're going to do this again, hopefully. This is so exciting. I’m going to eat with Iron Man and Captain America and Black Widow . . . Man, I wish I could tell everybody.” He looked down at Wade, hesitated a moment, then he reached up toward his own masked face.

This unexpected movement surprised Wade. “What are you doing?”

“To put it in a Deadpool way: You’ve shown me yours, so I’ve gotta show you mine.” Peter gripped his mask and began to pull it up.

He made it past his nose when he felt something wrap around his wrist. And, then, Wade’s voice whispered close to his ear. 

“Don’t.” Wade brought Peter’s arm down to his side. Then, slowly, he reached for the upturned mask, his wrist brushing against Peter’s soft, pink cheeks in the process. He brought the mask back down concealing the lower half of Spider-Man’s face. “Now,” he said when the mask was properly in place, “let’s go eat some murdered, flightless bird. Do turkeys fly?” 

Peter offered a smile from under his mask. “Let’s go.” The slabs of glass crunched under his heavy steps as he made his way to the new exit. Noticing the absence of Wade’s footsteps, he turned around. “You coming?”

The glowing screen of his phone illuminated his masked face. “I need transportation. Should I use Uber or a regular ol’ taxi? Do those things still exist?”

Peter let out a long sigh before offering him his hand. “Come on,” he said regretfully. “Let’s g--oof!”

Wade had ran at him and jumped onto his back nearly toppling them both down onto the shrapnels of glass around them. He placed his head on Peter’s shoulder, and his arms wrapped around his chest. “This is the best Thanksgiving ever.”

“We haven’t even had dinner.”

“I think I’m hungry for something else at the moment.”

“Don’t make me drop you.”

“I’ll shut up.”

“No you won’t. You never do.”

Peter, Deadpool gripping tight, swung through the nearly-dark city of New York. The car honks, motors, and chatter of the streets below drowned out by the constant babbling of Deadpool right by his ear.

\- - - - - - - - - - - - - - -

“--and then Legolas over here had the audacity to--”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to talk with your mouth full?” Steve said without glancing away from his plate.

Tony gulped down whatever food was in his mouth. “Excuse me for taking my time when swallowing.”

“You weren’t taking your time last night.”

A coughing sound was heard as Bruce nearly choked on his food. Natasha, giving Bruce hard pats on the back, couldn’t sustain her laughter. 

Tony, mouth agape, turned to Steve. “That was pretty good, Old Man. Looks like I’ve been a great teacher.”

“More like . . . student.” He offered the billionaire sitting next to him a small smile, which was returned with one of the famous Stark smirks. 

“Ah, love is in the air tonight.” Wade’s comment was lost amidst the laughter and chatter filling the table. He rubbed his full belly. Although he had already undone the belt buckle, it was still threatening to erupt. “I think I ate too much.” He heard a faint scrape. It seemed to be lost by the others in the table. He turned to see the seat next to him empty. He got up without bothering to excuse himself from the table and made his way to the living room-like area of their lounge. 

He took the only empty seat left on the black, leather couch. “Something wrong, partner?”

Without saying a word, Peter looked up. 

“I noticed you didn’t eat much,” Wade said. “With the excitement you displayed over this dinner, I thought you would’ve eaten the whole turkey.”

“Hehe. Yeah.” Peter took in a deep breath. “It’s just that--what you said, back there. You’re kinda right.”

“I said a lot of things back there, and I’m always right, so you have to be more specific.”

“I don’t want to lose this. I don’t want my family taken from me. Or my friends. Or you . . . guys . . . The Avengers, I mean. But, I also can’t truly prevent it. There’s always going to be something attacking me, us. The only thing I can do right now is hide my identity, but for how long? I just--”

Wade placed his hand on Peter’s shoulder. To Peter’s surprise, the new sensation felt nice, and he was able to relax in his composure. 

“It’s okay, kid. These emotions come with the territory. Sometimes, the only thing we can do is our best.”

“Why do you sound like Captain America?”

“Did you just call me old?”

Peter laughed. “Sorry, I just . . . I don’t know.” His shoulders slumped, and his gaze drifted to the carpet.

Wade let out his breath in a long, nervous sigh. “Okay, I’m going to do something, so please don’t kill me.” Without waiting for a response, Wade brought Peter close to him and wrapped his arms around his torso.

At first, Peter didn’t do anything, then he felt like punching Wade in the face, but he felt his body relax and his mind at ease. He let the embrace continue, and he rested his head below Wade’s chin. It felt . . . nice. “Thanks, Wade.”

“I don’t know how I feel about this, Cap.” 

Peter pushed Wade away. From the side of the couch, Tony Stark and Steve Rogers were staring down at them. “I, uh, we were just--”

“Isn’t it about time for you to go home, Peter,” Steve’s question came out as more of a command.

“Ye-yes, sir!” Peter stood up, gave Wade a small wave, and took off. “Thank you for the dinner,” he called out before the elevator doors separated him from the rest of the Avengers.

Meanwhile, in Deadpool’s mind, a surge of emotions and thoughts collided against one another. He hugged me back. _He thanked me AGAIN. He didn’t hit me. OhmyOdinOhmyOdinOhmyOdin_

Steve cleared his throat. “Ahem.”

“Yes, daddy-in-law?”

“Shouldn’t you be heading out, too.” Again, more of a command than a question.

“Well, not really. I mean, I’m not doing anything anyways, so . . .” The glare Steve was giving him bore through his eyes. He stood up and realized his belt was still undone. Sheepishly latching the hook of his buckle to the belt, he stated, “I just remembered I forgot to feed my Tamagotchi . . . twenty years ago.” With that, Wade made his way to the elevator. He didn’t look back, but he could feel the stares of the power-couple that was Iron Man and Captain America on him. “Out of all the people to fall in love with, and I go and fall for the guy with the two superstrong dads,” Wade muttered to himself as he made his way out the building. 

A cool breeze picked up leaving Wade to regret his choice of outfit. He made it to the sidewalk when he heard his name being called.

“Hey, 'Pool!” 

He looked up. Perched on a streetlight, Peter waved down at him.

“Need a lift?”

Wade’s eyes lit up. “I’d love to!”

The white web shot out from Peter’s wrist and enwrapped Wade. With a zip, he was pulled up toward the streetlight. Peter hadn’t calculated the trajectory or speed, and they ended up colliding back onto the cold, concrete. 

The 20-foot drop would have had a stronger impact on Peter if he hadn't landed on Wade. “Ouch . . .” Peter moaned. He opened his eyes and stared into Wade’s own pair. “Umm . . .”

“This is so romantic,” Wade smiled from under him.

“Off. I'm getting off.”

“Fine, I’ll let you be the dominant one in the relationship.”

“That’s stupid, ‘Pool.” He pushed away from Wade and stood up. He offered his hand to the man still on the ground. “I’m willing to switch.” 

Wade, mind filled with images of him and Spider-Man, eagerly accepted the hand. He raised his body from the ground, and, still grasping the hand, pulled Peter close to him. Their masks touched. Even through the mask, Peter could feel Wade’s warm breath.

Wade jumped on Peter’s back, placing his head gently on Peter's shoulder. “I think our lips touched.”

“Nope,” Peter said sternly. 

“I’m pretty sure that was--”

“Nope.”

“But--”

“Let it go, Wade, or I’ll drop you right here.”

Wade looked down at the street below him. A 50-foot drop would probably hurt. “So . . .”

“Dinner.”

“What is it with you and one-word sentences?” Wade said annoyingly. 

“We should have dinner sometime. Just . . . the two of us.”

Speechless, Wade replied by gripping tighter onto his ride.

“Is that a yes?”

“You bet your a--”


End file.
